


Nine Fingers

by Prackspoor



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fourth Age, Fridge Horror, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 20:21:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5553980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prackspoor/pseuds/Prackspoor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On their way home from Minas Tirith, the Hobbits have a strange encounter on the outskirts of the Barrow-downs...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nine Fingers

 

The sky in the east was already beginning to turn pink and grey and the Great East Road lay long in the thickening shadows when the Hobbits reached the outermost edge of the Old Forest. Wisps of fog rose from the ground and drifted over the road. Gandalf, Elrond, Galadriel, and their companies had parted ways with them in the afternoon to go wherever their mysterious "elf-business", as Sam liked to call it, was taking them. The journey had been peaceful and they had encountered no one except when they passed through Bree and bought bread and smoked meat to last them for the rest of the way to the Shire. But despite the still trees around them and the few lonely birds that were singing in the branches higher up, a strange unrest had taken hold of Frodo and he turned his head over his shoulder despite himself, listening for the sound of hooves on the road, dampened or swallowed by the trees around them.

"What is it, Mister Frodo?" Samwise asked, the worry on his master's brow having not escaped his keen eyes.

Frodo regarded the road just a bit longer, then he tore his gaze away and smiled at Sam. "I cannot hide anything from you, my dear Sam, can I?"

"You should know by now that nothing goes unnoticed by Sam when it concerns your well-being!" Merry said before Sam could answer. "But he is right; you were very quiet since the Old Forest came into view. What ails you?"

"I don't know," Frodo said, although this was only half-true. "I guess it is because the last time we went down the East Road we were hunted and frightened, and a long journey lay before us whose end was hidden in darkness."

Merry nodded. "True. But now there are no longer any sniffing Ringwraiths we must hide from, and no orcs and trolls to prowl the land. There is no reason to be afraid; even the Barrow-downs should be safe now that the power of Angmar has been broken."

"The Barrow-downs!” Pippin exclaimed and shuddered at the memory. “I still wouldn't go there again, not even with a troll right at my heels! I remember little and much of it still seems like a dream to me, but what I recall is a song that made me think of the end of the world and eternal sleep in tombs of stone. And the cold!"

Frodo looked away and the darkness under between the grey trunks seemed to draw his gaze, forbidding and enticing at the same time. "I would rather not speak of these things before nightfall. Let us wait until we are back in the Green Dragon and the midday sun is at its highest."

"Very well." Merry nodded again. "But we don't need to go near the Downs this time. We can follow the road a bit longer before we take the path that leads us to good old Tom Bombadil. I miss the old fellow and I look forward to seeing him again."

"So do I," Pippin said. "Although I still think he's a just as strange as he is old. I wonder if he knows at all what has been going on in Middle-earth after we left his house."

Frodo did not say anything, but he was sure that Tom had not missed what had happened during the last year, even if he never seemed to leave his forest.

"If you'd allow me a word," Sam said, "I suggest we make camp here and don't ride any further before next morn. Mister Frodo looks tired," he threw his master a glance, "and look, even the ponies are restless."

And indeed, the ponies had, unnoticed by the four Hobbits, huddled together, their ears laid flat against their heads and stomping their hooves. Even good old Bill, who had grown fat and lazy in Bree during their absence, looked nervous.

A few years ago, Merry, Pippin and Frodo would have laughed at Sam's words. After all, they were near the Shire's boundaries and armed with Rohirric and Gondorian steel. But now they lowered their heads and stole silent glances at each other until their eyes fell on Frodo, who was still looking down the street that had now begun to slide into darkness two hundred feet ahead.

"What do you say, Frodo?" Merry spoke up and righted himself, remembering once more the dangers he had faced in the south, and telling himself that nothing living in the Shire could possibly be more terrible than what he had seen there.

Frodo thought about it for a moment. He looked at his friends and then at the foothills of the Barrow-downs rising to his left: sharp, jagged, and black against the darkening blue and violet sky where one after another the stars began to appear.

"Let us spend the night here. I don't want to come too close to the Old Forest at night. We can ride on tomorrow when the sun is high enough."

* * *

 

The Hobbits steered their ponies off the road and a bit to the north until they reached a mossy grove surrounded by beech trees whose trunks shimmered silvery in the last fading light of the day. The trees were gathered in a circle and in their midst, the Hobbits set up their night camp. They watered and fed their horses and tied them to the beeches (not that any one of them had a lot of hope that this would hold the ponies back, should they try to run; back when they had been on the Barrow-downs their mounts had broken free as well). Sam stroked Bill’s muzzle and then went to gather firewood, while Pippin brought water from a nearby stream: a tributary of the Withywindle, which would join the bigger stream about half a mile south.

Merry and Frodo sat on bedrolls by the fire. Merry lighted some kindling and softly blew into the flames. Frodo watched him silently and pulled his Elven cloak tighter about his shoulders. The nights were already very chilly in October and although the cold did not usually bother him, he was glad when Merry succeeded in starting a fire. Soon the flames were crackling merrily and Sam roasted potatoes and turnips for all of them, then threw in some meat and let it stew.

Pippin leaned forward and breathed in deeply. "Ah, Sam, don't let anyone ever tell you that you are second to anyone in cooking! This smells delicious; I think I could eat all of that by myself!"

Sam's ears didn't turn red at the praise like they would have done not so long ago. Instead he just laughed. "I'm afraid you will have to leave something for your friends, Master Peregrin, although you can have my share if you are so hungry."

Pippin threw his head back in mirthful laughter. "Listen to our good old Sam! He doesn't even hesitate to forgo his own meal! How did you survive the march over the planes of Gorgoroth when you gave everything to our Frodo here?"

Frodo flinched at the memory of the desolate, barren plane that spanned the endless waste between the Morgai and Mount Doom, but he didn't say anything.

Pippin turned to look at him. "I am sorry, Frodo, I love you dearly, but I think you would not have survived with me at your side. I would have eaten my own share first and yours afterwards."

"Now I know why Master Elrond wanted to send you home instead of allowing you to join the Fellowship," Merry said. "Small wonder we always seemed short on vittles."

"Ha!" Pippin exclaimed and his voice was very loud in the grove. "You ate just as much as me and you smoked even more. I bet poor Gimli is still wondering where his pipe-weed went after we left Lórien!"

Frodo only half-listened to the back-and-forth of his friends. Instead he kept a watchful eye on the darkness behind the beeches. His back felt cold and he had the feeling that they were being watched.

Nonsense, he told himself. Who would want to watch four Hobbits bantering and having supper in a clearing? A fox or a badger maybe; the scent of the food must have drawn them here. But despite telling himself to dismiss his unease, his fingers closed around the hilt of Sting. He waited until no one was watching and then he pulled it out of its sheath just far enough to look at the blade. It was dark, merely the moon was reflected in the cutting of the blade. No blue shimmer emanated from it. Frodo regarded Sting for a few moments, then he pushed it back into the sheath.

I wish Strider was here with us, he thought and suddenly remembered that only a little more than a year ago, Strider and the four of them had sat in a little dell below the summit of Weathertop, waiting for the Nazgûl to find them. The coldness that crept up Frodo's back clung to him even tighter.

But Strider would wander with them no more. It was still strange to think of him as King Elessar, but Frodo could not help but think in fondness of the weather-worn ranger whom he had thought to be a spy of the Enemy during their first encounter in the Prancing Pony. Frodo wished with all his heart that Aragon could be here with them now, if only to sing them songs of the Elder Days and calm their unrest with his silent presence, for indeed he was not the only one who was unsettled. He saw the ponies, which were still standing close together, their heads lowered and their ears flat against their heads. He had not planned to speak aloud, but suddenly and to his own surprise, he found himself singing the song he had heard Gildor and his company sing when they met under the starry sky in September a year ago.

 _A Elbereth Gilthoniel!_  
_silivren penna míriel,_  
_o menel aglar elenath!_

For a brief time, the shadows seemed to grow less deep and the stars shone brighter from the black dome over their heads. Sam closed his eyes and listened and Merry and Pippin ceased their banter and looked over at him with awe-filled eyes.

“I remember this song”, Pippin said. “I can’t quite recall where I have heard it, but seems to speak to me, although I don’t understand the words.”

“The High Elves we met when we were fleeing the Black Rider were singing it,” Frodo said. “It is a hymn to Elbereth, the Queen of Stars.”

“It is a beautiful song,” Pippin said. “There seems to be so much more than the mere melody and the words to it. I remember now that I felt as if I had stepped through a door and into the Elder Days back then. There is a lot more elf-magic to music than I thought.”

“A pity Bilbo was not there to hear it,” Merry said. “I bet the old chap would have taken notes and composed a new song immediately. I only begin to see it now, but you are indeed very similar to him, Frodo.”

Suddenly, something behind Frodo's back cracked and he jumped to his feet and turned around, his hand on Sting’s hilt before he knew it.

“Who is there?” he called.

At his words, a tall shadow stepped out of the shadows between the trees, almost invisible in front of the grey tree trunks and the blackness under the branches. Light and shadow slipped over the stranger as he came closer to the Hobbits. He was tall, much taller than a Hobbit, and his face was hidden beneath his cloak.

Sam was on his feet in an instant and drew his dagger as he leapt in front of Frodo. “Halt! One step closer and I’ll make your long legs quite a bit shorter!”

The stranger halted indeed and raised his hands. “No need to draw your sword, Master Hobbit, I intend to do you no harm.”

Frodo put a hand on Sam’s shoulder and stepped next to him. “I apologise for greeting you so harshly. But you must know that it is unusual to see a wanderer this far north since King Elessar forbade Men to enter the Shire. Who are you and what are you doing here?”

The stranger was silent for a moment. “I have not heard of this ban, but rest assured that I did not trespass across the borders of the Shire. I have come from the South and I intend to keep walking north—without disturbing anyone on my way.”

“From the South!” Pippin cried. “Then you must have come down from the Barrow-downs!”

The Hobbits blanched at the memory of this ominous place.

The stranger regarded them thoughtfully (or at least Frodo thought so), then he nodded. “I left the Downs behind me shortly after nightfall a few days ago. I visited a friend of mine who lives in the Old Forest and parted ways with him this morrow. I followed the Withywindle until night fell once more and not much later, I heard you talking and singing and I came closer, curious what four Hobbits might be doing out here in the wilds alone. It is seldom that you see travellers on the road at night. The woods have become empty since the Fair Folk left.”

“I see you know of Hobbits and of Elves, and it seems that you might be a friend, but I do not know you,” Frodo said. “Who are you?”

“Not a friend. Just a wanderer.” The stranger came closer, but did not take off his cloak. His face was still half-hidden in the shadows, but Frodo could see a long, slightly crooked nose and a mouth with thin lips surrounded by lines that indicated old age. “May I sit down at your fire for a while? I won’t bother you for food or drink; I merely want to rest my feet a bit before I will be on my way again.”

Frodo stepped aside and bade him to sit down at the fire.

The stranger approached slowly and now Frodo saw that he was leaning heavily onto a long wooden staff. For a moment, he was reminded of Gandalf, but Gandalf had left them a few hours ago and he looked quite different now in his white robes than the stranger in his grey cloak. He took a long time to sit down as if he was in great pain and when he had sat down on one of Sam’s cloaks, he set aside his staff and held his hands to the fire, while the ponies were whinnying in the background. Frodo was surprised to see that they were sticking in black gloves. Surely it was not that cold this time of the year, but the stranger resembled an old man and maybe the cold was bothering him more than it did bother four young Hobbits.

“You mentioned a friend of yours who lived in the Old Forest,” Frodo said. “Is it Tom Bombadil you’re speaking of?”

The stranger looked up and the glint of fire betrayed where his eyes were. “Yes. I knew him under a different name, but Tom Bombadil is one of the names he goes by.”

“That’s it then, he’s a friend of Old Tom!” Merry said. “And you wanted to cut his legs off, Sam!”

Sam went red and looked away. “Pardon, m’lord,” he mumbled. “I was just cautious, that’s all.”

“Well, we told you,” Pippin said. “The war is over and we don’t need to have our hands on our swords at all times anymore. No more Orcs, no more Black Riders.”

Frodo turned to the stranger who was sitting to his left. “You’ll forgive us our cautiousness, but we’ve come from the South as well and it’s only been a year since the War of the Ring has ended. It takes some time to remember that the streets are safe once more.”

The stranger turned his head to look at Frodo. “You are speaking as if you were involved, Mr…?”

Frodo opened his mouth to give his name, but in the last moment he reconsidered and said, “Underhill.”

He noticed Merry, Pippin and Sam giving him strange looks.

“Mr Underhill. So you did indeed take part in the War of the Ring?”

Frodo hesitated. “I would not say that we have taken part. We were just caught up in a few events on the side-lines.” He didn’t know why he was lying, but he felt very uncomfortable talking about his own role in the war and he did not feel like having the stranger asking him questions about the Ring, Strider, and Gandalf. “We Hobbits do not like to get involved in any adventures.”

“I see.” The stranger looked into the flames once more. “But,” he said slowly, “I think, and forgive me if I am wrong (because I know little about Halflings) your role in the war cannot have been that small, seeing as you, too, lost something in the fighting.” And with those words he pointed at Frodo’s right hand where the stump of his fourth finger was.

Frodo balled his hand into a fist and hid it under the folds of his cloak. “Yes. Many of us lost a lot of things. But the war is over and it won’t do to dwell on them. Do you want something to drink?”

“No, thank you.”

Pippin laughed. “You know little about Hobbits and our hospitality indeed if you think you’ll get away without sharing some of our food and drinks. And stories! There is nothing better than sharing stories around the campfire!”

“Stories?” the stranger asked as he accepted a bowl of stew and a slice of bread from Sam. “I know no stories fit tell at campfires, I fear. Those I know would only draw dark things nearer instead of chasing them away, as such stories should. Even now I’d rather not tell them.”

Merry frowned. “Well, you could tell us where you come from and why you are wandering this far north. The war is over and the danger in the south is banished. Men can live there without fear now, or so King Éomer said.”

The stranger’s eyes flickered again. “Curious folk you are indeed! You say you are not involved in any adventures, yet you know of the War, of Tom Bombadil, and you seem to be acquainted with kings and sound like you invite them over for tea every week. As for your question: I am wandering because there is no place for someone like me in the realms of Men. I’d rather leave them to their own devices and that entailed leaving their kingdoms.”

“No place, sir? What does that mean? Are you an elf?” Sam suddenly asked, his curiosity winning out over his good manners telling him to stay silent.

Frodo smiled at that. Never would Elves cease to amaze Samwise.

The stranger seemed to be amused as well. “Not everything on this Earth is either Elf, Man or Dwarf. But Elf comes closest, so an Elf I shall be to you.”

“But you are not sailing into the West?” Frodo asked.

At those words, the stranger was silent for a long time. “No. I do not, nor shall I ever, go West.” He let out a sharp breath and the flames flickered higher momentarily as if the gust of air had fuelled it. “But I wasn’t finished: I left Gondor behind and traversed the Ered Nimrais at its westernmost spur. I crossed the Angren and the Ford of Isen two months ago and after I had wandered Dunland, I crossed the Gwathló, or Greyflood, as you call it. From there, I followed the Greenway until I came to the Barrow-downs, crossed them and went into the Old Forest to visit Tom Bombadil. A stayed for some days and then I left. That was yesterday. Now, I am sitting here at your campfire and tomorrow, I shall head further north and I hope to reach Fornost before the break of winter.”

“Fornost?” Pippin asked.

“The ruins of Norbury,” Frodo answered. “Bilbo told me it was once one of the three capitals of Arnor, but it has long since been abandoned and fallen into ruin. What do you hope to find there?”

“Nothing,” the stranger said. “And if there is indeed something I seek there, I do not know it myself yet. But let us speak of other things, if you please.”

“Done and done,” Merry said and clapped his hands. “You said you visited Tom Bombadil. You might have noticed we care quite a bit about him as well. How is the old fellow?”

The stranger inclined his head to one side and smiled. “He is as he always was, I daresay. He still dances and sings, he is wise and friendly and insufferable at the same time, he asks a lot of questions and answers very few in return.”

“Sounds quite like him,” Sam muttered who apparently still hadn’t forgiven Tom for his careless handling of the One Ring and the scare he had given Frodo by letting it vanish.

“I didn’t know Tom had so many strange friends, forgive me for saying that, Mr Elf,” Pippin said. “He told us he rarely ever leaves the Old Forest.”

“You are forgiven.” One corner of the stranger’s mouth rose a little. “It is true that Tom doesn’t leave his realm, but strange people nevertheless seem to find themselves on his porch every now and then. Hobbits, for instance, might be called strange visitors in the Old Forest as well. Then again, you seem like an adventurous lot.” His eyes glinted in the darkness of his hood. “Why, I told you of my journey, now politeness dictates that you share something of yours as well. I haven’t seen and heard a lot of the war, but I can see you know more than you let on. Where did you come from?”

The four Hobbits shared a long look and Frodo frowned, wondering what he could give away without having to answer more questions about the Ring and Strider and Gondor afterwards.

“We departed from Minas Tirith,” Frodo finally said. “We were invited there to witness the coronation of King Elessar and we stayed there for a while before we made the long journey back home.” That was not the entire truth, but it was not a lie, either.

“Another king! You are indeed on good terms with a lot of kings.” The stranger leaned forward a bit. “Do you know him?”

“He is a friend,” Frodo said, a bit defensively. “He was not always a king, and we were friends even before we knew of his legacy.”

“Yes, we met him in Bree a year ago,” Pippin suddenly said. “We would never have thought that there was a king under the disguise of Strider the Ranger. He seemed very sinister at first, but he proved to be a good companion. We Hobbits ran headfirst into many perils, and if good old Strider had not been there to lead us out again, none of us would be here today. Frodo here would have died on Weathertop if Strider hadn’t chased the Ringwraiths away.”

At these words a strange sheen passed over the stranger’s eyes and Frodo wished he were able to take back what Pippin had said. Merry must have noticed his desperate look, because he gave his younger cousin a quick jab in the ribs with his elbow.

Frodo feared for the next question which would doubtlessly involve Ringwraiths and questions inquiring the reasons why Hobbits would be chased by Black Riders, but the stranger asked no such thing.

He was silent for a long while and then merely said, “I must amend my afore-made statement. You are not only adventurous, but you must be foolhardy to do something which would set such powerful enemies on your trail.”

“It was not our fault!” Pippin said, but Merry nudged him again and he fell silent.

There was silence for a long time and Frodo stared into the fire until he felt a chill colder than the night creeping down his spine. He looked up and found the stranger looking at him.

“Frodo Baggins,” the stranger said.

Frodo sat there, frozen. “Do I know you?” he finally asked.

“No, you don’t. Do not look at me like that. Every child in Middle-earth will grow up knowing your name.” The stranger smiled, but his eyes stayed hidden in the shadows. “To be honest, I had a suspicion it was you since I first saw your camp. I know little about Hobbits, but I know that they are a staid folk and rarely venture outside the Shire. And then I saw you: a hobbit clad in the royal garments of Gondor, armed with an Elven dagger, and missing a finger. It was, as you see, no feat to guess who you were.”

“In this case, it was impolite to pretend not to know,” Frodo said. “Forgive me, but I feel like you were toying with me.”

“That was not my intention. I was not entirely sure until you didn’t deny it.” The stranger looked away. “Please accept my apology. I meant no harm.”

Frodo watched the stranger for a few moments. “It’s fine. I would not be this distrustful under other circumstances. But now you know that we’ve been through more hardship and adventures than is desirable even for the bravest Hobbit, and we’ve been taught more than once not to trust anyone we meet on the road. It is dark, the Barrow-downs are close by and I am tired. Had we met in Tom’s house, I would have greeted you in a friendlier manner.”

“I understand. Your journey must have taken you to dark places, I imagine. And strangers on the road who enquire about your quest must hardly seem trustworthy.”

Frodo nodded.

Thankfully, Merry and Pippin were eager to take over the conversation from there and pelted the stranger with questions, who answered every one of them and yet revealed almost nothing about himself. He preferred to enquire about Hobbits and their customs, and as soon as the talk came to pipe-weed, Hobbit-genealogy and Shire-cooking, Merry and Pippin were interrupting each other in their eagerness to tell him everything they knew about these matters. Despite being happy to avoid outsiders, few Hobbits could help feeling flattered when a stranger showed interest in them. Even fewer could resist prattling on and on about Longbottom-Leaf and Old Toby and family trees when they discovered they had found a friendly ear.

* * *

 

The moon rose and by midnight, the stranger must have been more well-informed of the workings of the Shire than most Took or Brandybuck patriarchs.

“—and Frodo here is half Brandybuck himself!” Merry suddenly clapped on his shoulder and Frodo looked at him, startled.

“You’d never think that when you look at him now, but back in his youth, he was quite the scallywag! That was, of course, his Brandybuck side showing, and my father was quite proud of it, too. He was far more adventurous than those boring Hobbiton-Bagginses and we caused a lot of mischief together. Poor Farmer Maggot, we must have stolen half of his winter supplies of mushrooms back in thirteen-eighty!”

Frodo felt a bit embarrassed, but the stranger merely smiled.

“And look what has become of the little rascals. I bet no one would have thought that you of all the people in Middle-earth would be the ones to thwart the Dark Lord’s plans. Hobbits are a curious folk indeed. And it is so easy to forget about them, isn’t it?”

“Well,” Pippin said, “Frodo made sure that no-one’s going to forget about Hobbits for a thousand years at least.”

Silence followed this statement and was only interrupted by Merry’s yawn. “I don’t know about any of you, but the whole talking and laughing has made me tired. I feel like I could sleep for three days.”

Frodo nodded. He turned to the stranger. “Will you be staying here with us?”

“If I may,” the stranger said. “It’s been a while since I have had pleasant company.”

Sam stepped forward to offer up his bedroll, but the stranger declined with thanks.

“I had plenty of time to rest in the past. I shall stay awake and look after the fire. I doubt I would fit in a Hobbit bedroll anyway,” he said.

“Well said, his legs are far too long. Maybe you should have pruned him after all, Sam,” Pippin laughed, then turned around suddenly. “Why are the horses so restless?”

Sam frowned and went over to look after them. Bill whinnied softly when he noticed his master coming toward him and pressed his snout into the palm of Sam’s hand.

“You haven’t heard any wolves when you came down from the Downs, by chance?” Frodo asked the stranger, but he just shook his head.

“No living thing still resides up there. If there has been life on the Downs, it’s long gone. And there have never been wolves in the Old Forest. They are too smart to go there.”

Frodo looked over to where Sam tried his best to calm the shying ponies and hoped that they wouldn’t wake up in the morning and find them gone. Meanwhile, the three of them prepared their bedrolls and spread them out on the soft mossy ground.

Finally, Sam returned and the four of them slipped into their bedrolls, wished each other good-night and went to bed. Frodo didn’t fall asleep immediately. He was lying on his back, his hands behind his head and looked up at the starry sky, trying to find the constellations Bilbo had taught him in his youth. In the northern sky, he saw the Sickle, while to the west Remmirath swung high in the dark dome of the night. He turned his head and saw the stranger still sitting in front of the fire: unmoving, the orange sheen playing over his cloaked form, but never revealing his face. He remembered thinking that there was something strange about this man or elf, whatever he was, but before he could follow the thought to its conclusion, he fell asleep.

He dreamt of strange things: The horses were stomping and whickering loudly and broke free from their ties, running into the darkness between the trees. At first he didn’t know why, but then he saw that the grove was on fire. The stranger was standing in the midst of the flames, but he did not notice he was burning alive, because he was on his knees and digging through the ashes with his bare hands. When he pushed the ashes aside, Frodo saw that there was molten lava below and the stranger thrust his hands into the fire with reckless abandon, as if he was searching for something. His gloves burned away and then his fingers, which where charred and black. Even his cloak shrivelled from his mutilated and shrunken form and revealed a face of white-hot flame, until his entire body all of a sudden turned into a ghostly mist. His searing eyes turned to look at Frodo and he felt a horrible weight on his chest and the links of a thin chain cutting into his neck, as if there was something heavy hanging from the necklace and dragging him down. Then the ghost vanished in a gust of wind and he sank deeper into a dreamless sleep.

When he woke in the next morning, a pale dawn had risen in the east. The fire had gone out and the stranger was no longer there. Frodo got up and the noise woke his friends.

“Huh?” said Pippin, when he rose from his bedroll. “Where did our friend go?”

The four of them looked around, but the stranger was nowhere to be seen. They were alone in the grove; merely their ponies were grazing calmly.

“It seems he left before dawn,” Merry said. “A pity, I quite liked him. There don’t seem to be enough patient ones among the Big Folk who are willing to listen to Hobbit-tales.”

Frodo looked around, as if the stranger would jump out from behind the beeches at any moment and laugh at them for falling for his prank. But nothing happened. Birdsong was the only sound in the air, disrupted every now and then by the contented snort of one of their ponies.

“What now?” Pippin asked. “We can’t wait for someone who doesn’t even excuse himself or say good-bye before leaving, can we?”

Frodo took one last glance around, then he turned to face his friends. “No, I don’t think so. If he had wanted to tell us good-bye, he would have waited until we were awake. He is probably in a hurry to reach Fornost before winter. I say we go on and try to make it to Tom’s house before midday. Come on, Merry, lead the way, you’re most familiar with these roads.”

“Only with those in Buckland,” Merry said, but he still packed quickly, untied his pony, and led the way back to the road where they turned right.

“Keep your eyes open for the little path where Tom saw us off when we came down from the Downs,” Merry told them. He and Sam rode in the front, while it fell to Frodo to keep an eye out for Pippin to keep him from dawdling.

Frodo inclined his head back and smiled, letting the sun warm his face while the winter birds were flying to and fro above their heads. He opened one eye to look over at Pippin and was surprised to see his young friend lost in deep thought, a crease between his brows.

“What is it?” Frodo asked. “You look worried.”

“I am just thinking about this Elf or Man, whatever he was,” Pippin said. “He seemed so polite at first, I find it strange he didn’t find it necessary to say good-bye.”

“I have given up on trying to understand everything Elves do,” Frodo said with a smile.

“Well, he certainly didn’t tell us everything that there is to know about him. Did you notice he was wounded?”

This gained Frodo’s attention. “He was wounded?”

Pippin nodded. “I think he made a great effort to hide it. But when you were all asleep, something woke me again. First I thought I was dreaming, but then I saw him sitting there at the fire, murmuring something I could not understand and clutching his right hand to his chest. He was looking at you while he was doing it, Frodo.” Pippin frowned as if that particular detail had come to his attention only now. “When he took away his left hand, I could see that he was missing a finger on his right hand, just like you. Isn’t that curious? I don’t remember much more, because I fell asleep after that and my dreams were a jumble. I am sure I have forgotten something, but that’s all I recall for now.”

Pippin interrupted himself. “Frodo, what’s wrong?”

Frodo had become as pale as a ghost and he was staring at his right hand.

“Frodo?” Pippin reached over and shook his shoulder and this startled him enough to look up.

“Tell Merry that we’re not going to visit Tom today,” Frodo said. “Gandalf told us to take care of the Shire first and I feel like we cannot put this off much longer. We can return some other time.” That he planned to never set foot in the Old Forest again was not something his friends needed to know.

Pippin frowned, but did as he was told. While he, Sam, and Merry were discussing the news about thirty paces ahead, Frodo looked back over his shoulder.

The darkness between the trees had lightened a bit and no mist was wafting over the road. Half and half, he expected a ghost to appear there, but no apparition made itself known in the splendid autumn sun. They rode until late into the night, when finally the Brandywine Bridge appeared before them.

One year ago, the Nazgûl had crossed it in their hunt for the Ring. Now it was barred and torches illuminated the watchtower. Only when the Hobbits guarding the bridge had let them in and the door had been shut and bolted behind them, did the frantic beating in Frodo’s heart slow down and the clenching of his heart ease.

* * *

 

He never told anyone about this encounter, not even Gandalf, and he did not discuss it with either Sam, Merry or Pippin after the Shire had been scoured.

But the encounter kept haunting him and he thought of how even the Elves took their time to disappear from Middle-earth, so why should this not apply to other beings as well?

It was only when he set foot on the ship at the Grey Havens that he finally felt that last fear that had been plaguing him, together with the knife wound of the Witch-king, fall away. There were some beings who would never go west, and Frodo knew that they would not be able to reach him now.

He watched as the plank was pulled back and threw one last look at his friends, feeling salvation flooding through his veins, before he averted his face and climbed down into the boat’s hull to take care of Bilbo, who was already looking forward to their new and last adventure.

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I hope you had fun reading this, as it was surely great fun to write it. By the way, if anyone feels called upon to proofread this for grammar and spelling errors, please send me a PM.


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